When time stops

For me, travel, like everyday life in one’s hometown, has it’s ups and downs. There are moments of boredom, waiting around for a train or a reservation, moments of reserve, not feeling up for the crowds, the hundreds of languages washing over you as you try to make sense of the ancient sights sitting right in front of you. When I draw, time stops. When I draw I become part of the moment, I am simply “seeing”. In a way, it is a form of meditation, I forget my fears, my worries, and feelings of inadequacy, as my eyes scan the world in front of me, in search of a composition that suits me. I find a bench, preferably in the shade, and begin examining every detail, first the dark shades, the shadows, and then where the light hits. I begin to map out shapes, keeping in mind where the background of an object might peek through. I think about the direction of the lines, and then how I will create marks. Long loose lines, or scribbles?